


The Jersey Devil

by CopperRose



Series: Fake AH Crew [8]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Temporary Character Death, mention of drugs, mention of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperRose/pseuds/CopperRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the members of the Fake AH Crew, Michael's life was perhaps the most normal before he became one of them. And it was only with boredom and a little dumb luck that he and the crew found each other. On the bright side, Michael's life became much more interesting after the night they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jersey Devil

Most people thought if a person was part of a gang that meant they must have some sort of troubled background like being born to an abusive home life, whether the abuse be physical or emotional, or that the person had something they needed to prove, either to the world or just themselves, or some were just flat out desperate and chose crime rather than starving to death. But none of these thing were a problem for Michael. He had a good home life, a great one actually, with parents and siblings that loved him (even if they did sometimes steal the food that _he_ bought), and he definitely wasn't so damn proud that he thought the world owed him anything (he was a Goddamn handy man for several years, he couldn't afford to be proud), and as far as money went, he fared pretty well, he had more than enough to pay his rent and buy the latest games and that as more than enough for him to be happy.

Really, he had a normal life, one that most people would be pleased with, one that wouldn't leave him worried that he might be on the streets in a moments notice. But that was the problem, wasn't it? His life was just so _boring_! He didn't know why but he just felt like he was meant to do something _more._

But what?

Joining a gang wasn't intentional, no really, he hadn't planned it, it just sort of happened. It started out with a dumb idea that he could spice up his life by doing something illegal. Pot was the obvious answer. The trouble was finding someone who sold the stuff. He was a eighteen year old who had lived in a middle class neighborhood all his life. How the fuck was he suppose to know where the fuck you go to find weed?

He didn't know how one of his friends knew about it, especially since he insisted that he hadn't smoked a day in his life (Michael was beginning to believe he was full of shit though, since he set up the meeting for him and even offered to go with him to meet the guy). Michael went alone to the parking lot just across the street from a Tacobell, which seemed fitting if a bit cliché. They'd meet at night and do a quick exchange and if he liked the stuff, he'd give the man another call and maybe he'd be a little less bored with his normal life.

He drove up to the meeting spot where he saw a group of three men talking. He hadn't known so many of them would be at the exchanged, if he had he wouldn't have turned down the offer of company. Sure, his friend had insisted that the guy he was meeting was legit and never did anything to scare off his customers but he also hadn't mention there would be more than one person present. He cursed to himself quietly and wondered if it was too late to turn back. Whether it was or not, he still put his car in park and got out slowly.

The redhead's approach was ignored at first, whether that was a good thing or not he didn't know, and the closer he got the more of their conversation he could hear. The the more he heard the more he wished he had just stayed in the car.

“You're not even from Jersey.” The man standing opposite the other two huffed. He looked like the description Michael had been given so he assumed this was the one who was suppose to be selling to him. “Why should I work for some assholes that live on the other side of the fucking country?”

“Because,” one of the men opposite him spoke calmly, he was on the heavier side with glasses and sported a beard, that with a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of white shorts made him look like he was a tourist that should be sightseeing rather than talking to a drug dealer, “you have more product than you can move and our boss has many men in many different states that _are_ able to move that product. You would make more making that product for our crew than you are ever likely to make working with this small time gang.”

The dealer glared at the other suspiciously. “And if I say no?”

“Then you're an idiot.” The second man across from the dealer laughed. He had an accent and a mess of blond hair. Unlike the man he was with, he didn't seem calm, he fidgeted and bounced on his heels, he looked in every direction but never focused on one spot for very long before looking on like he was bored with the scene within seconds of looking at it. His hands were more than a bit twitchy and went from his pockets to playing with his phone to adjusting his sunglasses (seriously, what kind of asshole wears sunglasses at night?) to smoothing down his shirt, in no specific order. It was like he was having a sugar rush and it was doing nothing to persuade the man opposite him that they were serious.

Suddenly the dealer noticed Michael and looked beyond thankful. “Yo man!” He called and waved at him, looking passed the other two. “I'll be with you in a minute!”

He looked to the two in front of him once more. “I said I'd hear you out until my customer showed up and he has. Go tell you're boss that I'm not interested in any of this bullshit you're tryin' to sell. This is our territory, not some out of towners that call themselves a crew. Now you better go, the Jersey Devil over there doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

He was bluffing, of course, and Michael wouldn't have given a fuck about that bluff in the slightest, right up until he had been added to it. Michael was _never_ buying anything from this son of a bitch for the rest of his life! Still the other two men looked at him with a bit of curiosity, like they were wondering if this man that was fairly thin and small compared to all three of the others in the parking lot was somehow dangerous. He had not signed up for this bullshit!

The look that flashed across the blond's face sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn't tell if it was a look that said that he didn't believe what was said for even second or a look that said that he was ready for a challenge. Michael didn't want to find out which it was and just wanted to get back in his car and get as far away from these freaks as he could!

The bigger man looked between the dealer and Michael before shrugging. “Alright, if that's the way you prefer it. But it really would be better if you at least gave the message to the guy in charge. We'll be sure to be in touch, in case you change you're mind.”

He turned and walked away, the smaller fidgety man following while still staring Michael down, or at least trying to. He almost tripped twice before he eventually stumbled into their car and they drove off. It might have been funny if it weren't for the fact that Michael wanted nothing to do with the trouble that was sure to be starting.

“You just saved my life!” The dealer practically cheered and Michael scowled at him.

“Yeah? Because I'm pretty sure you just fucked me!” He hissed at him. “The Jersey Devil? Seriously? I didn't come here to be part of a fucking gang war!”

“Hey now,” the other man's hands flew up, “just relax. Those idiots are all talk. They think they can come here and do some fast talking about their business and that we might cut a deal with them. They don't even have weapons, you're perfectly safe.”

He still gave an unhappy glare. “Fine, whatever, let's get this over with.”

A small bag was produced and was exchanged for a few dollars. When this was done, Michael was ready to go, his nerves had been shot enough as it was for one day. He turned to leave but was stopped.

“Yo, dude, if anything happens, like if those assholes show up again and start bugging ya, come find me.” The other man insisted. “My friends and I don't want them in our territory anyway.”

Michael nodded, not planning to ever see the man again for the rest of his life, before getting in his car and driving home.

~BREAK~

As it turned out, pot wasn't really Michael's thing. He supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised. He hadn't cared for smoking tobacco either and had only tried that because his brother offered him a cigarette once. Ultimately, he ended up bored all over again. He didn't have it in him to find a new hobby but he didn't want to chase an even bigger high either because he wasn't interest in getting addicted to anything too dangerous.

And then he was invited to a party by the same friend that pointed him to the drug dealer. If he had been smart he would have stayed away and found something better to do, the problem was that he didn't _have_ anything better to do. So he threw caution to the wind and accepted the invitation.

There was a lot of beer at the party, none of which Michael could drink legally for another few years, which of course meant he drank as much as was offered to him, and there was also an offer of a number of drugs, none of which he accepted. The party wasn't so bad and he was mingling well enough but the fun didn't last and before he knew what was happening he started hearing a name thrown around that left him worried.

The Jersey Devil was on more than just a few lips and more than just a few eyes were focused on him. He tried to ignore this but then people started asking him who exactly he worked for. He didn't get the question at first and answered honestly, he worked with his dad. When they asked what he did, he chose to be vague and said he fixed things without giving any further context, mostly because it felt a little embarrassing to admit that he fixed toilets and the occasional electronic. At least out of context it might sound a little cooler than it was.

He didn't know how it happened but somehow he ended up alone in a room with a number of men and women. They spoke fast, telling him that one of their dealers insisted that _he_ had saved his life and had called him the Jersey Devil without telling them where he had got the name. Michael had hoped this was just an undeserved “thank you” but then they brought up how he had told most of the people who had asked that he _fixed things_ and he got worried. By the time the gun was pulled out and put on the table, he was ready to run for the door and never look back.

They couldn't be serious!

He was going to fucking kill the man that had started all of this!

“Here's the deal,” the man who handed over the gun began, “you take care of these guys and we pay you and we might hire you for some work in the future.”

“And we don't mean just scaring them off like you did last time.” Another man spoke up. “We appreciate you doin' that but just scaring them didn't do the trick. We want 'em dead, preferably with as little trace of them as possibly.”

Michael gawked at the people in the room. This was some sick joke, right? “Let me get this straight, you want _me_ to kill two men and _hide their bodies?”_

The man that offered the gun frowned. “What? You don't do clean up?”

Michael's face turned beat red with frustration and was half ready to start yelling and telling them how fucking stupid they all were for getting the entirely wrong idea but he was in a room filled with five other people who all had guns. Sure, Michael had a few anger issues but he didn't have a death wish!

He released a heavy sigh and did his best to sound convincing. “Clean up is my brother's job.” Which wasn't a total lie, if the context was right.

The man across from him eyed him. “Family business?”

“What I said earlier, isn't it?” He demanded and felt a little annoyed by the fact that this man was actually buying the garbage he was saying. Did he look like a murderer? Was it his hair? Maybe his face?

“Whatever, I'll... see what I can do. No promises.” He told the other man but was furiously trying to think of a way to get out of this mess. “I don't suppose you know where these guys are?”

The other man looked pleased. “Their staying in a motel just outside of our territory. We'll get you an address after the party dies down.”

“No,” Michael insisted at once though he wasn't sure why, “it'll probably be two in the morning by the time this party dies down.” He filled in the blank without really thinking about it, which surprised him since he didn't have even the beginning of a plan. “It's around midnight now and it'll be dark for the next few hours, that'll give me time to do the clear up when I'm done.”

The other looked almost impressed, which wasn't helping the fact that Michael was screaming internally.

An address was handed over to him and he took the gun which he only sort of knew how to use. He refused all offers of assistance or rides before anyone could finish making them. “I work with people I know. I don't know you.” It was almost scary how good he was getting at weaving this lie even though it was less than a few hours old.

As he drove to the address he truly didn't know what the fuck his plan was. He sure as fuck couldn't kill someone! Especially members of a gang! They'd surely send someone after him if he even managed service the encounter.

He was so fucked.

~BREAK~

He was in front of the door, just staring at it like it was the gateway to Hell itself. He'd stood there for twenty minutes, just looking at it. The sound of a TV could be heard from inside, loud enough that it could mask the voices of anyone that might be inside, provided they spoke quietly enough. This left Michael even more uneasy because he had no idea if they knew he was there or if they were even in.

His fist moved to the door for the dozenth time that night. He had almost knocked so many times now that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He tried to be brave and swung his fist to knock but stopped each time too early and then pulled back. His last attempt however ended too late and he ended up tapping the door very unintentionally.

It wasn't a really knock and any normal person wouldn't have even noticed the sound, unless of course you were waiting for even the faintest of sounds to give yourself an excuse to open your door, which was apparently exactly what the blond on the other side of the door was waiting for. The door was thrown open and Michael's mouth hung ajar at the realization that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing there.

He wasn't a murderer or a gang member, what the fuck was he doing?

“It's about time, you knob!” The man spoke, Michael swiftly becoming aware that his accent was a British one. “Thought you were just gonna stand out here all night!”

Before he even knew what was happening the blond grabbed him and pulled him into the small room. On one of the two beds the heavier man from the other night was sitting, looking amused at his friends enthusiasm.

“So,” the man on the bed spoke up, “I'm guessing since you're here, you're friends finally decided to wise up or think that you're gonna scare us off?”

Michael couldn't find his voice. This was not a situation where he could afford to develop stage fright! Not if he wanted to live, anyways.

The blond looked him over as he stood there quietly. “Maybe he's just drunk.” He suggest. “He smells like alcohol. He might not know where he even is.”

The Brit laughed at his own suggestion and Michael's face grew warm at the though that this man really thought he was that stupid. Sure, it might have been better for his over all health in the long run if the men thought that he was just an idiot but he had never liked being treated like he was stupid.

“Shut the fuck up!” He snapped at the Brit and, to his surprise, he actually did just that. “I'm not here because I'm fucking lost! I'm here because you two won't take a hint that the local gang doesn't want anything to do with you!”

“And what does that have to do with you?” The calmer of the two asked as he rose from the bed he was sitting on.

Michael gave gruff sound and threw his hands up. “It shouldn't have a single fucking thing to do with me, like, at all! But the stupid fucking drug dealer you two cornered a while back told everyone that I saved his life and kept calling me the Jersey Devil to all of his friends and now they all think I'm a Goddamn hit-man for hire!”

The room was quiet for a good few seconds before laughter rang out from the blond, who apparently thought his story was hilarious. This did nothing to calm Michael's anger.

“Would you shut up? This is serious!” He insisted. “If you assholes don't leave they're gonna kill me!”

The blond eventually stopped and smiled in Michael's direction. “Nah,” he said as though the very thought of it was silly. He then turned to the other man and shrugged. “Well Jack, we tried the diplomacy shite and now they sent someone to kill us. I think it's far to say you're plan didn't work. It's time for the fun way of doing things.”

The other man, Jack, sighed but nodded. “Even if their attempt to kill us was faulty, it still sends a message of weakness if we just let this stand.”

The blond bounced with enthusiasm. “I'll get the guns!”

Michael paled and inched his way towards the door. He stopped the moment he saw Jack pull out a gun from under his shirt, a silenced pistol it looked like, before pointing it his way. He felt horrified and was positive he was going to die.

“Oh, come on!” He practically yelled at the other man. “I just want to go home and pretend like this never fucking happened!

“I'm sorry,” Jack said and he sound genuine when he said this, “but you've seen our faces and there's only two ways to fix that.”

“One of which really hurts!” The Brit called from the other side of the room as he opened a suitcase with an assault rifle inside.

Michael frowned at the two of them. “Okay, what's the second option then?”

“This is the second option.” Jack told him and just like that he sent a bullet through his head.

~BREAK~

Michael did not expect to open his eyes again after that, which made it incredibly odd when he did just that. He didn't even feel any pain from where the bullet went in. Hell, if not for the fact that he was standing on the side of the road just a few blocks away from the motel he was just at and the fact the he could feel the gun still hidden in his pants, he might have thought it was all just a bad dream. And yet, somehow, he knew none of it could have been a dream.

Suddenly, everything clicked and felt like that purpose that he had always known he was suppose to have was now revealing itself.

Another man might have gone home and counted his blessing but Michael had been bored with his life a long, long time. Sure, he had a decent life but it was boring and he had longed for an escape for a long time now. Maybe this was it.

He have walked back to the motel and somehow wasn't surprised at all to see that the two men that had been the cause of his death just minutes ago, were standing outside of their motel room next to a car, as though they were expecting him to return. They didn't even look surprised to see him, a bit wary, sure, but not eve a little surprised.

“Shouldn't you be fleeing the scene?” Michael asked dryly. “I know you're gun was silenced but the shot is still pretty loud.”

“Nah,” the blond said with a shrug, “we killed everyone in the motel the second night we moved in.” Michael gawked at him. “What? People kept asking about all our suitcases, had to do something.”

“Is this the part where you try to get revenge for us trying to kill you?” Jack pulled the conversation away from what the other was saying.

“It might have been but something tells me you guys aren't freaking out about this because you've got experience with this shit.” He admitted.

Jack smiled before retching into his shirt pocket and pulling out a business car. It had a green star and phone number on it. “It you want you know more about all of this, give us a call.” Jack told him. “You'll get our boss but tell him you met Jack and Gavin in Jersey and if you're willing to get your hands dirty with the kind of stuff we do you might just get a job out of it.”

Michael stared at the card and watched them as they moved their suitcases into their car.

“Where ya going?” The redhead asked curiously.

“Back you Los Santos.” The blond, Gavin Michael supposed, answered though he sounded disappointed.

He looked surprised at both of them. “I thought you were going to go murder the gang that sent me after you.”

“New orders.” Gavin admitted. “Boss says they aren't worth our time.”

Michael looked between the two of them and then the card they had offered him. He almost felt disappointed to see them go when he only just felt like he was discovering the new him. “Well, bye then.”

The blond smiled back at him. “Bye, Jersey Devil.”

The redhead immediately frowned. “If you ever call me that again, I swear I will fucking shoot you.” Gavin gave a high pitched laugh, sounding delighted by the threat. “Call me Michael.”

The Brit smiled even wider. “Bye Micool.”

The redhead kept frowning and did his best to ignore the fact that the other man had butcher his name and walked away from the both of them. He got in his car and sat there for a while, only leaving the spot he was in long after the other two had finished packing up and had left the area.

Where to now?

~BREAK~

The decision hadn't come all at once but it was after the tenth time that he had been called upon to “fix something” that Michael came to an obvious decision. His employers had to die. And boy had he gotten good at killing things over the last few months.

For a long time he hadn't thought of himself as a murderer. In fact, he had tried very hard to ignore the gang's business and tried to make it clear that he wasn't looking to be a hit man for hire but the name Jersey Devil had flooded the streets of his city. He had made the intruders disappear in just one night and no one had fount any bodies nor had anyone come looking for those men, this made it hard to shake the unwanted attention he was getting.

Eventually curiosity got the better of him. After all, he had survived dying once and nothing bad had come of it. The worst thing that could happen was that he was killed and ran back and finished was he started. And, of course, he did in fact die quite a bit, but the longer he worked the better he got at absolutely destroying the people in is path. He began to worry that in time he might begin to enjoy the blood on his hands but he couldn't bring himself to quit now that he'd started.

It wasn't a bad gig really, which made it even harder to stop. He got to decide how he did things and no one asked you a lot of questions when you killed people professionally, along with that, they paid him at least five thousand each time they called on him to take care of something. The trouble was they kept calling him the Jersey Devil, a name he swiftly grew to hate, and they weren't always ready with his payment after a job was done. This time had been different though because it wasn't just that they didn't have his payment. They didn't have any money at all.

“We got these in mail the day after all of our bank accounts were emptied.” Someone had explained and pulled out a card with a green star on it. “We all got one.”

Michael frowned and retched into his pocket, thankful that he had kept the card they had given him on hand and flashed it at the room. His bank account was fine the last time he checked but no one in the room needed to know this. “You idiots got a plan then?”

“Yeah, find them and kill them!” Someone suggested and a number of other people in the room agreed with him.

Michael just rolled his eyes. “That's not even kind of a plan.” He informed the room. “Especially since these guys live on the other side of the country. But whatever, I don't give a shit about this, just get me my money before you call me again or don't call me at all.”

He walked out and no one tried to stop him. Michael had been prickly from the very start and none of them were surprised by the way he acted anymore. He wasn't their friend, this was a job but he took no pleasure in being near them, even they could see that.

Once home he stared at the card that had been offered to him so long ago. He did this often but he never got the nerve to make the call. Today felt different though, he just didn't know why. It was like they were trying to retch him without making it seem like it. He dialed slowly, hesitating after each time he pressed a button but just kept going. Still he hung up four times before he finally finished dialing the number. Eventually the last button was pressed and he clicked the call button.

It rang twice and then someone on the other end picked up.

“You should _not_ have this number.” A man's voice on the other end warned him. He sounded annoyed, like he really wasn't looking forward to being disturbed.

Michael almost lost his nerve and hung up but he hadn't come this far to run like a bitch. They'd never take him seriously if he did that. “Jack and Gavin gave me a card while they were in Jersey. They told me to call. I'm guessing you're the boss.”

“... Jersey?” The man asked curiously. “They were there months ago. The fuck took you so long?”

“The fact that you hadn't bankrupted the people paying me until just recently.” Michael admitted. Perhaps it wasn't a good move to admit he worked for their competition but really, what the fuck could they do to him? They couldn't kill him, plenty had tried and failed at this point. Hell, even he had experimented to see just how indestructible he was and he was still kicking.

He was a little surprised to hear the laugh come from the other end but he had long since assumed that the people running this crew must have been a little crazy. “So you're calling to demand your friends' money or are you looking for work?”

“They are _not_ my friends.” Michael answered sharply. “You can keep anything you want of their's, I don't give a shit about them. But I didn't kill a man, drag his body to the middle of the woods, and then bury his ass just to be told by my employers that they've been robbed and can't pay me.”

The other end of the line was quiet for a second. When he finally spoke, Michael could practically hear the smile on his voice. “Alright, you want competition, I get that. But here's the thing, I'm not a fan of the company you keep and while I'm sure you're very good at what you do, I hold the people I pay to a much higher standard than most people. So if you want me to pay you, you're gonna have to impress me. Think you can do that?”

Michael frowned and thought about it. Impress him. He didn't know anything about this man, could he do that with so little information about the man he was talking to? Yeah, he decided, with a little work he could definitely do that. “Keep your eye on the news.” Was the only thing he told the other man and just like that he hung up his phone and got to work.

The boss wanted to be impressed. This was either going to be awesome or a complete disaster.

~BREAK~

For two weeks Michael ignored everyone. When his family came around he insisted he was working and they said they understood. When friends came around he told them he had a private matter to deal with and they were disappointed and a few times angry. When the gang came around he told them he was fixing their problem and they rejoiced. Each time he watched them leave, confident he was still on their side, he had to stop himself from cackling at their stupidity.

When it was finally done he decided to at last visit his employers who were still looking for ideas on how to strike back against this rival gang. It was almost exactly like the first time he had met them all, with a loud party going on in the background while the real business went on in the basement. Michael was pleased with this because it meant that he might have been able to take out not only the men in charge but also the people working for him. If everything went right, of course.

He parked his car two blocks away from the party and walked the rest on the way with a duffel bag over his shoulder. His pistol was tucked into his pants just in case he had to make a run for it but he was more than confidant that he had done everything right, having tested everything several times over just to be sure. As he approached he could hear people already welcoming him and cheering the fake name other people had made for him or variations of that name. Each time he heard someone say Jersey Devil or JD or Jersey or even just the Devil, he grew more and more confident in his plan and all the more sure they fools deserved everything they were about to get.

He marched straight in the building and down to the basement, not bothering stop and talk or even to accept the drinks offered to him. His expression and the way he dodged the crowd made it pretty clear that this was business and the moment the people in his way saw the look on his face they quickly cleared a path.

Men stood at the basement door, turning away anyone that didn't belong down there but as Michael came to door, one opened it for him while the other shouted “JD” into the room. He pushed passed them indifferently and walked in to see a half dozen men and women sitting or standing around a table, all looking pleased and a little frightened by his sudden arrival. Everyone eyed the bag over his shoulder but no one questioned him.

“Sorry I'm late,” he told them dully, “I had to take care of a few things.”

“It's cool,” one of them insisted, sounding beyond pleased to see him. He turned to the rest of the room and gestured to him. “See? I told you he was working on something and that he said he was comin' back! We're in business again, now all we need is to find a way to sent a message to those fuckers who took our money!”

“What do you have, JD?” A woman leaning against the far wall asked, looking at the bag with fascination. “New guns?”

“Better.” Michael said with a smile. “This is how I plan to salve my problem. Made it myself.”

He took the bag off his shoulder and sat it down on the table before backing up and gesturing to one of the people at the table to open it up. Curious, one began to unzip the bag and pull out the content. With confusion, a small but heavy metal box with wires and knobs was pulled out. All eyes were so focused on this that they didn't notice as Michael's hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out something small. When they finally did look his way again he smiled with pride.

“The hell is it?” The man asked, still holding the box.

“It's a bomb.” He answered honestly and the whole room recoiled.

“Careful!” He ordered. “Don't drop it, you idiot!”

The man sat down and stared at Michael like he was a crazy person, which he honestly might have been at that point. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He demanded. “Why the fuck would you bring a bomb here?”

“It's not obvious?” Michael asked seriously but the people in the room only gawked at him. He gave a rough sigh and then brought his hand up to show off the cylindrical piece of metal in his hand that was topped with button. “I fucking hate you people and the only reason I did anything for you is because you paid me, which you can't do anymore! Unfortunately for you, your competition _is_ able to pay me.”

The absolute look of horror on all of their faces when he brought his thumb down on the button was priceless. It was made even better when they froze, realizing nothing had happened. Both sights were too much for him and he busted out laughing.

“Oh my _God!_ You should see your dumb faces!” He howled laughing at them. “That was the greatest thing I've ever _seen!_ ”

Suddenly everyone in the room had a gun but this only made him laugh harder. This could not be any more perfect!

“Give me one fucking reason I shouldn't put a bullet in your head!” One of the men in room demanded.

Michael continued to wheeze with laughter but tried his best to speak. “Dead man switch.” He told them as he snicked at them. Half the room looked confused, the other half looked a mix of angry and fear.

“Man, fuck you!” Someone shouted. “He bluffing!”

“I... let's not do anything stupid.” Another spoke up.

“I'm ending this!” Yet another said, never moving his gun from where it was aimed. “You're more trouble than you're worth, Jersey.”

Michael immediately scowled at him. “I fucking hate that name.” He told the other man and just like that he had his own gun out.

He didn't hesitate to shoot the other man. At the sight of this the whole room opened fire on Michael. He fell dead on the floor and his thumb left the button it had been on just seconds before. The explosion that followed was massive and could be seen from the spot Michael reappeared at about a block away.

Pleased, he made his way back to his car so that he could go home.

He hadn't expected to see someone waiting for him, let alone the sharply dressed man leaning against his car. He had short, dark hair and wore a black suite. On his hands and knuckles Michael could see tattoos and the redhead had a hunch that his sleeves were hiding many more. He flashed a pleased smile as Michael approached. The man didn't look like he really belonged there but at the same time he looked like he was entirely in his element.

The man pushed off the car and straightened his tie, though it didn't really need straightening, and smiled at the other man in front of him. “Michael, I'll take it?”

The redhead frowned at him. “Depends, who exact is asking?”

“Definitely him.” Another voice called out. Michael was surprised to see a man in a dumb looking Hawaiian shirt getting out of a car just behind the stranger. Jack?

“Micool!” A third voice cheer and before he knew what was happening he was nearly tackled from behind. It was Gavin, the voice had been embedded in Michael's mind some time ago, though he'd never admit this. The Brit held him in a hug, like they were old friends.

“What the fuck?” Michael demanded and punched at the man clinging to him. “Get off me, you idiot!”

The man in the suite gave an almost contagious laugh as he watched the blond be assaulted. “So, this is the big bad Jersey Devil I've heard about over the last few weeks? I expected you to be bigger."

Michael immediately glared at the older man. “I just blew up a fucking building and took _a lot_ of people with it because they wouldn't stop calling me that. You really want to push your luck?”

The man looked genuinely surprised for a moment. “Aw, you mean that wasn't to impress me? Don't tell me I came all this way for nothing.”

The redhead stared at the man for a few seconds before the words clicked. The whole reason the idea had come to mind in the first place, right. But shouldn't this man be in Los Santos right now, paying people to be in danger zone? Then again, if he could even sort of do the things Michael could, then he could walk through fire, burn to death, and still be perfectly fine. Why not be where the action was?

“You're the boss.” Michael said, not needing confirmation.

“Name's Geoff Ramsey,” he told him and offered him his hand. “We've been watching you for a while now, hope you don't mind, though you barely left your house, so technically we didn't really follow you much. But when you went on the move and had that bag, we were sure it was time for whatever show you had promised a while back. Gotta admit, you didn't disappoint. And for the record, yes, I am the boss.”

Michael looked between Geoff and his hand, not sure what to think. “Sorry, I just didn't think I'd be meeting you.” He admitted. “Not really sure how much of this I'm suppose to trust.”

All three of the other men smiled and laughed.

“Aw, look at 'im.” Gavin said in a babyish voice. “He was wetting 'imself the last time we were here and now he looks all serious and angry. They grow up so fast!”

“Shut the fuck up you asshole!” Michael shouted at him. “Don't talk about me like I'm a fucking kid! I put enough bullets in people to count as an adult, don't test me.”

Gavin recoiled at his yelling and Geoff smiled wide.

“And that right there is exactly what I'm looking for.” Geoff told all three of them, earning a curious look from all of them. This was just suppose to them dropping off the redhead's payment, wasn't it? That's what they had thought anyway. “You see Michael, it took you two weeks to make a bomb that probably took out half the block. Gavin here is still learning the wiring and has blown himself up a lot in the process. I need another set of hands in Los Santos, at least to teach Gav a thing or two, and as much as I've loved running with just my boys here, our family could stand to grow a little. So Michael, what're your thoughts on moving?”

Michael gawked at the other man and so did the other two. Not a single one of them had known this was come. In all honesty, Geoff hadn't even been sure what he would do when he finally met this notorious young man but hearing the praise Jack had given the kid over the last few months, insisting that he had taken his first death with grace and had been undeniably smart about simply walking away rather than trying to start an unending war and even just then seeing the way Gavin had been so pleased to see him, like he was really delighted to see this man they had only met once – though the Brit had always been very excitably when it came to people like them – it put a lot of things in perspective.

Simply put, Michael _belonged_ on their team and Geoff was determined to convince him of this, even if he had to kill all four of them in the process.

To his surprise, however, he didn't need to convince him of anything.

“Fuck it, why not?” Michael said with a shrug. “Just promise that what ever you'll be having me doing isn't boring as shit and that you assholes won't call me the Jersey Devil ever again and I'm up for just about anything.”

Geoff looked pleased. He could handle all of those request easily. “Oh, trust me Michael, Los Santos is anything but boring.”

Gavin made a disappointed sound though. “But Jersey Devil sounds so cute.” He teased. “I even looked it up. Did you know there's a whole myth about this thing?”

The redhead gave the Brit dull stare. “Gavin, I've lived in Jersey my whole Goddamn life, of course I know about the myth of the Jersey Devil. Don't be stupid.”

“An impossibly request my friends. No matter how we wish he would.” Geoff told him and wrapped his over his shoulder. “Now come on. Let's go admire your handy work.”

They walked the short distance back to the block and stood there, staring in awe of the destruction he had left behind. Maybe he had over done the bomb just a little. But the looks the other three men were throwing his way told him that they appreciated his flare without question. Eventually they slipped away when the sounds of police could be heard in the distance.

They agreed to regroup later and talk about arranging a place for Michael to live once he was in Los Santos with them. It felt almost too mundane of an act, after he had killed so many people all at once and agreed to join a gang but he supposed even the strangest of people did normal stuff every once in a while. Hell, even he sometimes marveled when he was standing in a grocery store, surrounded by people, and realized that none of them knew the blood on his hands. The week before, he had killed twelve people and he had been buying milk and flirting with a young woman like he was a normal person but in the back of his mind the only thing he could think about was that he had killed a man and she had no idea how easy it had been to get away with. He was secretly the strangest person in the room but no one looked at him because he looked absolutely harmless and he couldn't think of anything that was more hilarious than that.

And now he was part of a crew, with other people who were pretty much exactly like him. They were murderers and drug dealers, likely thieves and arms dealers as well. It wasn't until now that he realized that these were his people. He had felt at home with them when he was simply standing there with them watching a building burn. As strange as it seemed, this was who he was meant to be from the very start, he was sure of it.

To think, he had been bored with his life just a few months before.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what the hell happened. I was suppose to be working on Declaration of War and the next thing I knew I had eleven pages of Michael's backstory on my screen and was plotting out Gavin's and Jack's background also!
> 
> I'll be honest, I don't feel like this one didn't turned out as well as Vagabond or Taking Notes, but I did enjoy writing this one. I hope you enjoyed it as well.
> 
> I'm sorry for all typos.


End file.
